


Like Honey

by OrphanText



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fingerfucking, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2043273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphanText/pseuds/OrphanText
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which fruitcake is briefly mentioned, but has nothing to do with this fic at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Honey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [General_Button](https://archiveofourown.org/users/General_Button/gifts).



> A gift for General_Buttons, who has a bad day, and Gorlassar, who got me into this, had a pretty bad week, and whose art has inspired this fic.
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> beta: ice_evanesco
> 
> Mostly pwp

Bobby brings it up when the evening sun slants through dirty glass windows, the dishes drying on the rack. Dinner lingers on in the faint scent of tomatoes and basil. Crowley has his head in Bobby’s lap, lazily spread out half over the couch and half off, fingers fiddling with a paper boat that he had fashioned out of some scrap paper that he had found. Bobby watches, as he presses the folds down neatly and crisply, precise to a fault.

“I said a great many things between Tuesday and now,” Crowley presses a nail into a fold, creasing the corner, sharpening it with those clever fingers of his. He hums contentedly, when Bobby reaches down to smooth a hand through his hair, fingers curling gently into dark strands. 

“So you did,” Bobby agrees, teasing Crowley’s hair into disorganization. “I’ve given it some thought. Do you trust me?”

“It depends.”

“Get up for a bit. I have something to show you.” He smacks a heavy open palm against Crowley’s thigh. It is only after a considerable amount of cajoling and grumbling on Crowley’s part that they amble into the study.

“What’s the surprise, then?” Crowley slides his hands into his pockets, staring around with disinterest at the open books, just as Bobby carefully lifts the corner of the rug he was standing on.

“You impertinent fruit cake- “ Crowley sucks in a breath, anger in the sudden almost red gleam of his eyes. Bobby raises both hands, palms out.

“Remember that you were telling me about how tired you were of being constantly in control?” Bobby watches him carefully. “This is my proposal to you.”

“A drunken mistake.” Crowley’s hands tightens into fists by his side.

“Demons don’t get drunk. You told me so yourself.” Slowly he reaches into his pocket, and offers the hilt of a knife to Crowley. “If you want it, I’ll give it to you. If you don’t want it, I will respect that. Take it or leave it. If you say no now, you can always bring it up when you happen to be ‘drunk’ again.”

He notices when the anger slips away from the tense lines of Crowley’s shoulders, sharp eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the offered blade and choice.

“Being bossy, are we?” Crowley’s eyes flicks back up to his, and this time there was heat, but not anger. “The last time you took a roll on the ground, your knees went on a vacation.”

“I have it all sorted out. Just worry about yourself.” Bobby grimaces at the reminder. Trust, he thinks.

Crowley scuffs the toe of his shined shoes against the rug, then pushed it aside to reveal the devil’s trap painted on the ground fully. “I prefer it this way.”

The demon remains still when Bobby reaches for him, dark eyes assessing. Fire and brimstone sparks in their chests when they meet in a fierce kiss, the knife trapped between them, Bobby’s hand gripping the back of Crowley’s neck. 

“Strip,” Bobby pulls back, causing Crowley to pitch forwards, lips shining with saliva and eyes dark with intent. 

As Crowley shimmies out of his suit, dark material pooling beneath his feet, Bobby circled him, devouring pale flesh with his eyes. Just as Crowley reaches for the buckle of his belt, he steps forwards to grab hold of Crowley’s lovehandles greedily, before sliding over hot skin to circle Crowley’s wrists in a firm grip. The bones are deceptively fragile in his large hands, and he swallows against the surge of lust that it inspires in him.

“Let me,” He murmurs against Crowley’s throat, threading leather through the buckle when the demon’s hands returns to his sides, fingers twitching, and pulls it from the loops of his pants. He folds the length of it in two, feeling the body against him shiver as the buckle knocks against a hip, the metal cold to the touch. He imagines he knows what Crowley is thinking, having planted the suggestion of it into his head by working supple leather through his palms.

“But we don’t need this, do we?” Bobby sears a kiss into a shoulder adorned with swirls and dabs of ink, and drops the belt by Crowley’s feet while he plucks at his slacks, shivering. 

Because he likes the obscenity of it, Bobby carefully traces around the hardness just beginning to strain at the fine material of Crowley’s pants, pulling material tight over the swell of flesh, teasingly gentle, then rough and chaffing. Crowley sucks his bottom lip in, white teeth closing over redness, and Bobby thinks that if they had the time, he could keep at it. Hold the solid heavy heat up against him, Crowley fitting the curve of his palm, getting him to spill in his suit. He pictures lapping up every hitching breath and gasping moan that Crowley had to offer from his lips, and files the thought away for another day.

Crowley’s dark eyes burn and hiss and crackle while Bobby removes his socks and shoes, but his hands remain still by his side. As a reward, Bobby presses a kiss to the palms of his hands with a whisper of praise, and watches it shutter away, morphing into something quieter, something closer to an emotion that he might be able to name.

The draw of the zip catches in the silence, and then Bobby wraps a hand around Crowley’s cock and tugs. 

“Floor,” Bobby rasps, voice gravelly rough, and Crowley does not hesitate to obey.

It appeals to some primal, alpha male in his psyche to see Crowley kneeling amongst his discarded pieces of armour, because that was what his suit was. Every stitch and thread of it, and Crowley was stripped bare in every sense of the word because of the devil’s trap underneath. 

He pushes fingers into Crowley’s dark hair, always surprisingly soft to the touch, and draws lines over his brow, following the curve of his eyelids and the bridge of the nose. He was tracking the cupid’s bow of his lips when Crowley takes the finger delicately into his mouth instead, hot tongue pressing up against the sensitive pad of his finger in a promise. Greedily, he pushes in another finger, probing at Crowley’s tongue and teeth, drawing fingertips along his gums and the roof of his mouth, not allowing Crowley to settle into the easy rhythm of sucking on them the way the demon does his cock.

“I want to see you touch yourself,” Bobby rumbles, rubbing gently at Crowley’s bottom lip with spit slick thumb and forefinger. “But you’re not coming till I say so.”

Crowley makes a frustrated noise in his throat when Bobby works his fingers messily in his mouth, but wraps a hand around himself and strokes, knees shifting further apart, the other hand splayed over his abdomen. 

“You don’t deserve my cock,” Bobby tells him, Crowley red faced and jerking himself off with one hand on his knees before him. Crowley whines, softly, and then chokes when Bobby pushes thick fingers further in, triggering his gag reflex. “Don’t bite.”

Crowley pushes his tongue against the invading digits, turns away for breathing space, but Bobby catches his chin gently, cupping and tilting his face up in one large, warm palm. “Open up for me, love,” he says as Crowley breathes noisily through his nose against his knuckles. “There’s a good boy. You’re doing very well.”

He withdraws his fingers, Crowley chasing them with his tongue, before he coughs, eyes slightly wet with saliva shiny down his chin. “Here,” Bobby wraps an arm around him, and guides him to lie down, settling between Bobby’s splayed legs, instead of flat against the ground. His own erection strains against his jeans, trapped and uncomfortable, and he catches the glance Crowley gives it when his hand brushes up against the bulge. Eventually, they settle with Crowley nesting in the bend of Bobby’s better knee and leaning up against him, legs kept apart to accommodate Bobby’s feet. He smiles at the bob of Crowley’s throat as he swallows, hands skimming over ribs to tweak at his nipples, rolling pebbled flesh gently, and dips his head to kiss his forehead, his nose, his cheeks. 

“I love you like this,” he murmurs, Crowley’s eyes fluttering close as Bobby presses a kiss to his jawline, his ear, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and heat. “You will take everything I give you, won’t you? Like the good boy that you are.” He pulls at Crowley’s cock, firmly, and draws a soft throaty groan out of him.

“You’re perfect,” Bobby promises, and Crowley’s eyes open at the gentle touch against his entrance. “Shh, let me take care of you.”

He took his time, fingers pressing and smoothing lubricant over the puckered ring of muscles, hands sliding over Crowley’s skin until he was pliant and trembling, unresisting when Bobby sinks a finger into him. Crowley squirms, and Bobby feels the tight pull of fabric where Crowley has a hand fisted right into the back of his shirt. 

“Please,” the word falls from Crowley’s lips, and his head falls back to reveal a pale column of throat when Bobby rewards him with a second finger, slowly working him open in slow, sure strokes.

Now and then, he stops to reapply more lube, the substance cold and viscous, and Crowley twitches each time he pushes his fingers back in with it, cock bobbing pitifully against his stomach. He does not complain, however, and offers half whispered moans as Bobby slowly fucks him with his fingers, wet sounds obscene in the silent study.

“Hold yourself open for me, there’s a good boy,” he murmurs, pressing a thumb against Crowley’s perineum, massaging gently. “Show me how much you want it.” His eyes follow the lick of Crowley’s pink tongue as it darted out to wet his lips, before the demon shifted his weight better to hook a hand beneath his knee, offering more of himself to Bobby for his taking.

Bobby kisses him for the effort, and murmurs a steady, warm litany of praises into Crowley’s ear, before crooking his fingers, dragging them right over the bundle of nerves that causes a cry to burst out of Crowley unbidden. The hand on his back yanks harder at his shirt as Crowley clings on tighter to him, and Bobby feels him shudder. Fascinated, he does it again, firmer, slower, and kisses the short gasps for air from Crowley’s lip.

Experimentally, he alternates his strokes, although he keeps the movements slow, steady, stoking the heat in Crowley’s belly to a roaring fire, fingers gliding over his prostate and then missing it the next, fucking him deep and slow. Crowley trembles, quivering over his lap. The sight of him is nearly enough to bring Bobby to climax. Through it, Crowley never once lets go of his leg, fingers gripping his flesh so hard it goes white beneath his hand, and then turns his head towards Bobby, who kisses him just so, all tongue and breath and heat. 

Crowley drinks it in deep, and when he pulls away, its as though some filter had been taken away by Bobby’s lips. He moans, throws his head back and whimpers, then begs, soft whines of pleasure and need for more, more, more. 

“I bet I can make you come like this, without touching your cock,” he gives it a little twist, and Crowley arches, legs twitching. “Will you do that for me? Come with nothing but my fingers in you to bring you off?”

Crowley only sobs in response, toes curling from the stimulation, and Bobby chuckles at the precum dripping off the tip of Crowley’s cock to pool on the skin of his stomach. “Easy, I’ve got you,” he kisses Crowley’s forehead, tasting salt. “Easy.”

His fingers glide over the bundle of nerves again, and again, and again, and Crowley’s voice thins out to something sharp and painful and almost broken, wound up tightly and shaking in Bobby’s hold. 

“Come for me, love,” Bobby orders, and Crowley goes still for a second, before he shakes, spilling over himself, over Bobby’s hands, face slack from the enormity of it. Bobby fucks him through it with his fingers, under the last shudders and broken gasps were wrung from Crowley, and he lies limp and sodden against Bobby, the only thing holding him up at the moment. Bobby gathers him up in his arms, and smoothes a hand through Crowley’s hair fondly. He kisses him on the cheek, shoulders, wherever he can reach, reassures him while Crowley blinks, slow and heavy as though drugged at their entwined legs.

“You did well,” he praises, wrist aching from the long exercise, sticky and uncomfortable from where he had came into his pants long before Crowley did. “So beautiful for me. Perfect. Lovely.”

It was long minutes before Crowley manages to gather enough of himself to lift his head from Bobby’s shoulder, and Bobby kisses him again, just for the soft expression on his face, and reaches for the knife to cut a break into the devil’s trap.

“I love you,” he says, arms wrapped tightly around Crowley, the both of them sticky, sweaty, and reluctant to let go of each other. 

“Me, too,” Crowley whispers just when Bobby thinks that he has fallen asleep and is considering shaking him, words nearly intelligible and Crowley buries his face deeper into the shirt with the pattern that he hates, and it’s some kind of a start there, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Season 10 will be out soon. Still haven't watched show.  
> //burns in hell with all the unsexy porn


End file.
